Ungeheuer
by Love's Labour's Won
Summary: What is a homunculus? Rated T for implied gore.


Disclaimer: I do not own Fullmetal Alchemist or any of the characters and likenesses thereof. This is a fan-made work created purely for entertainment, and I am not in any way affiliated with the author or publishers. In other words: It's not mine! I'm just having fun with it!

A/N: This is that Halloween one-shot I mentioned a while back-just not in time for Halloween. A meditation on a question whose answer is often overlooked in fanfiction. Enjoy.

* * *

_What is a homunculus?_

* * *

Percy is barking at the rain. He is very loud for such a little dog, and he refuses to be silenced. I am surprised at him, really. He's never bothered by weather unless it is thundering, and I have not heard a single crack of that particular phenomenon. I almost want to smack him to shut him up, honestly—it has been a very long day—but whenever I feel that urge, I remember the way he cocks his head when he does not understand me, tiny pink tongue lolling out of his mouth as he tries to figure out what I mean, and I cannot lay even a single finger on him.

I sigh and rest my head on my hands, trying to pop the bones in my back and shoulders. Something is out of alignment today—has been all day—and I hope that it will be gone by tomorrow. However, these things usually stay for a week at a time, and so I do not hold onto any kind of real hope for relief. Nonetheless, I crack my joints uselessly, for I must. I wonder sometimes what it is like for those who never experience this—those who are correctly built.

Percy is no longer barking. I look over to the window he is staring out of, and I fancy for a moment that I see someone… The illusion is gone as suddenly as it appeared, and I sigh, motioning Percy toward his bed in the corner of the room. He does not move, staring in the direction of the momentary apparition with an intensity that suggests fear. I move to pet him, but a low growl escapes his throat. I am suddenly uncomfortable, but all the glances I throw at the window as I go up the stairs are fruitless. It must be thunder that is too far away for me to hear.

The rain covers the growls as I reach the bedroom, and I have not lain across the bed for long before unconsciousness overtakes me.

* * *

I do not know what woke me—a sound, or perhaps a silence. The rain has stopped, but that is not what troubles me. What is missing—or is something new here? I have no idea, but the dripping of a faucet I know I turned off before I went to sleep doubles my unease. Somehow I find myself at the top of the stairs with my candle tightly gripped in my hand.

I do not know why I creep down my own hall like a burglar, but something in my gut will not permit my motion otherwise. I can hear my own heartbeat like a drum in the quiet, this unnatural quiet whose unsettling element I cannot quite place. The stairs creak under my weight, squealing my intent into the night.

A jarringly loud cacophony of voices suddenly bursts forth from the other side of the house, garish men and women singing a bright and happy tune that seems horribly out of place in this suddenly nightmarish situation.

I scream unabashedly at the sudden intrusion, and the radio turns off with an audible snap. A wind seems to blow through the house, taking my candle's light with it—and I am at the mercy of the night. Something brushed my arm.

"Hello?" I call into the emptiness, and the boards creak as I move forward, fumbling in the familiar space because I am shaking. The boards are slick now; I must be sweating profusely. There is a scraping to my right, and I am creeping, creeping toward the source of the noise—this is not funny in the slightest, and this stupid bastard will pay.

"_Where is Percy?"_ The question jolts through me with nightmarish energy, turning my creeping into a running, and my coffee table leaps out of the darkness to bark me in the shins with astounding force. It should not be here; this is the kitchen, is it not? I feel for a counter, but all I touch is air. Where am I?

There is a striking of matches, and a doorway has lit up. I cannot tell what room it is, but I know that I must head toward it—he is in there, he must be in there. The door is slightly ajar, and I can feel the slick boards under my feet, threatening to make me fall in the products of my own terror—I just realized that there is not only sweat.

I stare at the door—my bathroom door, I realize, but somehow not my bathroom door.

_Drip, drip, drip._

When is a door not a door? When it is a shield, I say—a wall protecting you from Them, They who have no names. I will shut it. I will pull it tight and lock it, sit against it so that They cannot come out. They will never get out, never get me, never!

"_Where is Percy?"_

He is crying, crying and I can hear.

I pull the door open.

_Drip, drip, drip._

I have fallen in blood.

"Who are you?"

_Thud._

"Percy!" It was at one point.

_Whoosh._

It was above me. Now on me.

_Slam._

Some of the blood is mine now.

"You bast—why?"

_Slam. Gurgle._

"What… argggh..."

Hair. Teeth. _Slice, rip, plop._

"… oo?"

_Splat. Claws. Laughter._

* * *

_One of Them._

* * *

A/N: The title is a German word... which defines my concept of Them. Wanna tell me what it means? XD Reviews mean much to me. I rated it T since the gore's mostly implied, but let me know if you think it was too much for that rating and I will consider your opinion. Envy is the perpetrator in this, as I can see him doing something like this if he felt bored and vindictive enough, but I didn't identify him in the fic as the narrator would have no way of knowing that. I feel a bit twisted for writing this... Oh, and was it scary enough?


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